contact part deux

[bouchonne]

if this were modern times byerly would probably make you listen to total eclipse of the heart before you were able to leave a message

Comments

hee hee

[bouchonne]

She's -

[ Oh. Hell. She's over in the corner, snuffling around in the way she does when it's clear she needs to take a shit. Byerly groans, massively dissatisfied with this turn of events. ]

That monster. Why can't she just use the chamberpot like a civilized woman?

[ Things were getting good, dammit. - Well, no, that's not true; they'd been good through and through, all along. Fucking, with Bastien, is just like an etched wine bottle - very nice, but not actually really what's important here. ]

Do you think we'll die if we go downstairs?

[cozen]

[ Bastien twists his head around to locate her, too, and he can't be disappointed or irritated, because look at her. She's so cute. She's the best dog in the world. So he lets that swell of want recede for now, he laughs, he pulls Byerly's hand up off his belly after all, he kisses his knuckles, he says, ] Yes, [ and he starts the laborious and wriggly and wobbly process of getting onto his feet. ]

You hear, Whiskey? We will die for you. We will... Shirts.

[ Where are they. ]

[bouchonne]

Bleh.

[ A dismissive hand. ]

Who needs them.

[ He's already tottering over to the door. ]

[cozen]

[ Bastien makes a noise that can only be described as a whimper, in protest, but he only looks around for a moment before settling for wearing a blanket like a cloak and following Byerly and Whiskey.

They don't die on the stairs. But it is still raining outside (in a gentler way than before, without the thunder and lightning) so there's hope for drowning. ]

I think there is still a point, [ he says without segue once they're in the nearest courtyard. He's hiding from the rain under an overhang, himself. ] If we are all beyond saving in the end, and you try anyway.

[bouchonne]

[ Byerly, dramatic as ever, has stepped out into the rain with arms spread, hoping he cuts a fine image that way. Well, and also, being rained on feels nice when you're drunk.

It takes him a moment to catch up, especially as he's distracted by praising Whiskey for being such a good girl for pooping so well. Once he does - ]

What, standing at the Maker's side?

[cozen]

[ No, but— ]

Would you like that? Maybe He's handsome.

[ Bastien leans against the column beside him, cheek squashing on stone. Byerly does cut a fine figure, wet and shirtless and moonlit, and somehow even a finer one when he's being sweet and effusive with his dog. ]

[bouchonne]

Yes, but I imagine He's handsome like that Ellis fellow. Handsome, but no fun at all.

[ And then, with a laugh - ]

Besides, I don't really think that's where I'll end up.

[cozen]

[ Bastien frowns. That second part is very important and all, he’s not going to forget it, but first of all, ]

I like Ellis. He gives me things to read.

[bouchonne]

[ Delightedly jeering: ]

Teacher's pet!

[cozen]

[ Bastien makes a face and a disgruntled noise of vague disagreement. ]

I was going to say the Maker will want you, right here—

[ He crooks his arm. It’s meant to suggest the Maker putting his arm around Byerly and keeping him snuggled right up to His Divine Hip, but the blanket cloak might make it hard to tell. ]

—but if you are going to be mean, then I don’t know.

[bouchonne]

I'm not being mean!

[ The delight persists as he gathers up Whiskey and brings her back under shelter. ]

I love that about you. It's cute.

[cozen]

[ Bastien can’t just drop his sulk in an instant. It’s a matter of pride. But it does begin to thaw. ]

You have to stop calling me cute, [ to find something else to hang that sulk on, while he crouches to pet the wet dog, ] when I’m forty.

Until then it’s fine.

[ Sober, he’d be more cautious about presuming out loud that Byerly will be calling him anything in three years. Or maybe he wouldn’t be anymore, after swallowing the sun.

In any case, he’s fully thawed by now. ]

Why don’t you think the Maker will take you? [ He takes a guess and argues with it unprompted: ] Andraste’s army—they must have hurt all kinds of people, for the cause.

[bouchonne]

Mm.

[ He smiles down at his feet, his expression strange in that way it gets. ]

I think it's fairly universally acknowledged that there are certain types of villainy that are more righteous than others. My work is slimy. No one likes slime.

[cozen]

I’m not sure I should be letting you talk about my lover that way.

[ Gentler than his pouting about Ellis, but not because he cares less. He cares more. He cares about what Byerly thinks—about himself and the world and what’s beyond it—too much to cover his mouth (metaphorically) and say I love you so shut up. Same reason he sounds more curious than argumentative as he goes on, scratching Whiskey’s neck and looking up at him and his strange expression. ]

You think what you do is worse than burning a village?

[bouchonne]

Well.

[ The strange little smile twitches a bit. ]

No. But I don't think there's necessarily a direct relationship between what's worse and what's more despised, eh? Just think of all the Chevaliers you know of. Dripping in glory.

[cozen]

Yes, but.

[ He gives Whiskey a hug around the neck before he stands up. ]

That’s glory from us. We’re stupid.

[bouchonne]

[ Whiskey, of course, proceeds to then lean against Bastien's leg. He is her favorite. ]

And the Maker is not, is the supposition? Perhaps not, but it is hard to argue that He is just.

[ And - ]

And a person shouldn't do this sort of thing because they're looking for some sort of treat in the afterlife.

[cozen]

I suppose.

[ Bastien looks a little befuddled. Byerly’s a smart drunk—he knew that, of course, but he’d always had his sneaky not-actually-drunk advantage helping him out.

He also looks a little afraid.

Then he wiggles his face free of it. (Literally. There’s nose wiggling.) What started this? Right— ]

You do this sort of thing to fix the world. [ He leans against By for the same reason Whiskey is leaning against him. ] And I think it matters even if you can’t.

[bouchonne]

[ By sees that fear. Doesn't really fully understand it. Is Bastien afraid of an unjust Maker? - Well, and rightly so. ]

I do this sort of thing because -

[ He strokes Bastien's hair, running his fingertips through it. ]

Everyone needs someone on their side. No one should ever go through life without anyone looking out for them. So even if it's quiet, even if they just think it was a good Fade spirit and never even notice the drunkard in the corner who was watching them and listening, it still matters. That good Fade spirit will bring them some joy. Everyone deserves that.

[cozen]

[ Bastien is afraid of the Void, on the rare occasion the thought of it feels real enough to be frightening, and if Byerly doesn't have hope for himself then there's certainly none for Bastien—

But he's already left the fear behind. He smiles, and he presses the smile into Byerly's shoulder while he nods. Byerly whose religion would be kindness and laughter, Byerly who loves the world too much to want the Maker's return, Byerly who thinks decency is more common than not—Bastien keeps those moments tucked somewhere safe in his chest. This one goes in with them. ]

Then it's not in vain, if that's all the good you do. It matters to someone.

I am sorry about the agony, though.

[bouchonne]

There are things that make it worth it.

[ He's quiet a moment, and then says, a bit of shyness breaking through that clinical precision that alcohol brings to him - ]

It's nice to be seen, you know. I didn't really know how much until you started looking at me.

[cozen]

[ Bastien leans back far enough to see the shyness on his face instead of only hearing it in his voice, because it’s sweet, and smiles. Outright beams, even, for a moment. ]

I think it’s easier for me, you know, to be genuine with people… sometimes… [ important qualifier ] when I know you have seen me and you want to keep looking. I hope I can be that for you.

[ That’s the selfless side of his love. Mixed with the prideful part, perhaps—the look what I have part—but mostly selfless, mostly the pure desire for Byerly to be known and appreciated.

And here’s the selfish one, confessed with self-aware amusement: ]

But I also want to sit on top of your secrets like a dragon.

[bouchonne]

[ That makes him laugh, fondly, reaching out to caress Bastien's cheek. ]

A brainy little dragon with well-stocked bookshelves, and perhaps a pair of glasses perched upon his scaly nose. And a tight arse.

[ A pinch to said arse, for good measure. ]

[cozen]

[ Still no jump reflex, even drunk. It's long long gone. But he laughs, while he takes Byerly's hand to hold. ]

It is pretty good, huh?

[ He bumps him with his hip before pulling him along for a walk. A walk toward the other tower, the one he lives in, even though it means leaving the cushions and shirts and open bottle on the floor upstairs. (He's not subtle about avoiding Byerly's room, especially after that morning in Wintermarch, but he's also not secretly even slightly miserable about it.) The rain is still gentle beyond their overhangs, Whiskey is still precious, and Bastien's getting tired and heavy but is still buzzy with affection. If he hadn't already decided to be stubborn about his given name, this would be the moment—but he has, and he's very good at not changing his mind once he's really made it up, so the impulse to give something to Byerly comes out instead as, ]

I'm going with you after the war. Did you already know that?

[bouchonne]

[ There's a twitch of his hand in Bastien's. A sign of surprise. And then - a squeeze, tight and warm. ]

I - didn't. When did you decide? [ Because he needs to make a little bit of a joke of it - ] You just want to stay with Whiskey.